


Do I Wanna Know?

by Cat (ActualBuckyBarnes)



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: :), Alternate Universe - Zombie Apocalypse, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Fluff, I'm Full Of Tropes, M/M, True Love's Kiss, that's right i can still upload original content, y'all guess what i'm not dead
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-17
Updated: 2016-12-17
Packaged: 2018-09-09 03:10:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,965
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8873494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ActualBuckyBarnes/pseuds/Cat
Summary: Phil sat on the outskirts of the town. 
    How had it gotten this bad?   He remembered the first of the outbreaks, the news coverage and the social media freak-outs, and for once, Phil had to admit that they were right.





	

**Author's Note:**

> **TW** : Mild gore, starvation, really ( _really_ ) freaky parasites, mentions of sex (but no smut bc I just can’t write smut for some reason?)

Phil sat on the outskirts of the town.

_How had it gotten this bad?_

He remembered the first of the outbreaks, the news coverage and the social media freak-outs, and for once, Phil had to admit that they were right.

The disease turned people into monsters, horrible creatures that hungered constantly, wandering the streets in search of something to fill their stomachs.

They’d even turned Dan.

And Phil supposed that was the last straw, seeing his best friend in so much pain.

Phil remembered sitting in the living room when Dan walked in.

“Feelin’ a bit under the weather, sorry mate,” Dan said apologetically, “Don’t think I’ll be able to help with the shop—“

Dan clutched at his stomach, hands flying from his abdomen to his hair and back again. Dan screamed, his eyes darting around wildly. His muscles gave way and he toppled onto his knees, retching from all the pain. Phil was panicking, but a small voice in the back of his head said, _there’s nothing you can do for him. Just comfort him._

And Phil supposed Dan knew it, too.

“Dan… I’m here,” Phil said softly. He knelt down, hushing Dan, whose screams had turned into sobs.

“Don’t leave,” Dan rasped, eyes wild, “Please don’t leave, please don’t leave, please don’t—“

“I’m not going anywhere,” Phil said, brushing Dan’s hair out of his face and wrapping his arms around him.

“Phil—“ Dan’s voice was desperate, panicked, “Phil—I love you.”

Phil hushed him again, “I know. I love you too.”

Dan laughed through the tears, screaming again and doubling over on himself.

“Phil, I’m dying,” Dan said, “Phil… why are you still here? I’m dying! Leave!” Phil hurt for Dan, whose brain and body had turned traitor on him. It had to be the worst sensation, even without the pain.

“I couldn’t do that,” Phil said softly, “Oh God, I’d never leave you like this.”

“You must really love me, then.” A bit of blood trickled down through Dan’s mouth.

“Of course I do,” Phil said sadly, “Dan, goodbye.”

“Don’t—don’t say goodbye, oh God, don’t say—“ Dan screamed one last time, cutting off whatever it was he wanted to say with his warbled voice, although Phil had an inkling Dan wanted to say _don’t leave me_ again. His muscles stilled, occasionally twitching.

Tears dripped down Phil’s face as he gathered his things. A toothbrush, a few extra clothes, some soap, a jacket. He looked over at his night-stand and saw a photo. Him and Dan, in Jamaica. Dan’s hair was curly, and Phil hadn’t shaved. He remembered the way his stubble pricked at his hands whenever he ran touched his face, the way Dan looked in the dying sunlight, the way he laughed and the way they grew an infinity closer. And now Phil took the picture out of the frame and put it in his back pocket.

“Goodbye, Dan,” Phil said one last time, as he walked through the living room to find Dan sleeping, almost peacefully, his voice cracking, “I- I love you.”

Dan groaned and looked up. Phil knew… he knew it wasn’t Dan. His eyes were a shade too dark, his muscles just a bit too coordinated. And he wasn’t talking as he ambled towards Phil.

Phil shut the front door, running along as Dan opened it. _Great, the zombies are smart._

Phil ran. And ran and ran and ran until his legs gave out. He spotted a hardware store, lights flickering dimly.

Phil stumbled into the store, thinking fast. He grabbed a wooden plank and a few screws, making a makeshift shank out of nails and the plank. It also served as a nice walking stick. He knew from back when the TV still worked that the zombie infestation was actually a parasite, a fungus that infected the brain stem and the cerebellum, essentially sending the conscious part of the brain into a coma. It was a fate that some thought to be worse than death. There wasn’t a way to treat those infected, there wasn’t even a way to know what they were going through. All they knew was that it was a mutated version of _Ophiocordyceps unilateralis_ **,** a parasite that usually infected ants, and what happened before the fungus took over. And what happened was ‘a lot of pain as the body tries to fight the fungal infection’, and what it did to human bodies. Spores began growing from the ears and noses of those infected, the eyes, the fingertips. It was grotesque and alien and it was _terrifying_. But they were parasites—they had one weakness. They were dependent on their host. Kill the host, kill the parasite.

Phil exited the hardware shop and set off. The zombies he encountered would try to tear at his clothes, to get into his mouth or nose, but Phil murdered them before they could get him. If he tried hard enough, he could pretend some of them weren’t people.

* * *

And Phil was on the run ever since—looking for survivors. For friends. For _anyone_ he could spill his story to.

Occasionally, he looked at the photo. Dan would’ve been twenty-eight that year. Phil was thirty-two. The photo was tear-stained and old, now, and faded. The memory was still there. Dan’s ghost still smiled at the camera like a thousand suns.

The world was so devoid of music now. It was the one thing Phil knew he’d miss, but he didn’t think it would be this deep. An ache in his soul to lose himself in drumbeats and basslines. To sing off-key with Dan.

Dan’s ghost haunted Phil. Not literally, of course, but occasionally Phil would put on an anti-viral mask and go outside and he’d see a figure with long, curly hair out the corner of his eye, tall and lanky. And sometimes the voice in his head sounded like Dan’s too, soft and encouraging or panicked and squeaky.

Phil wondered if he was the last man alive.

He didn’t really leave London. He didn’t know what kept him there, didn’t know why he didn’t run far away. The streets echoed with whispers of busyness and life.

A zombie started to walk towards Phil, arms outstretched. In retaliation, Phil raised his club—this one different to the one he’d made two years ago. This one was a baseball bat that had nails driven through it in multiple directions. Phil was poised, ready to strike—

Phil took a second look, though. The figure’s hair was long and dark and shaggy, and the eyes were hazel and—

“Chris?” Phil’s eyes bugged out. He couldn’t—he couldn’t kill Chris. Phil’s voice didn’t sound quite right to his ears, croaky and sore from misuse.

Chris didn’t even reply.

“Chris?!” Phil yelled. Chris kept ambling forward, although Phil could almost see the flicker of recognition in his eyes—what was left of his eyes.

Phil had tears dripping down his cheeks. “Ch-Chris,” He sobbed, turning tail and fleeing.

It was almost as painful as watching Dan turn. Phil’s vision blurred as he kept running.

 _Is he even Chris anymore?_ Phil thought, _or is he just a monster?_

Phil felt disgusted in himself for ever killing any zombies. They were all someone’s friend, and here he was, unable to kill what used to be one of his.

“Hey!” Phil heard a voice call. _I’m hallucinating_ , Phil thought, tugging at the jacket that rested on his shoulders.

“Hey!” The voice called again, “Where are you?”

“Fifth Street!” Phil yelled back, “I’m at Fifth Street.”

“Okay! Okay, I know where that is.”

Phil waited for someone to appear—PJ or Louise or _anyone_ —and was treated to nothingness. The unmoving steel of the city.

“Hello?!” Phil called.

“Hello?!” The someone called back. Phil rubbed at his eyes. _I’m hallucinating_.

“I’m hallucinating,” Phil murmured out loud. He saw a flash of curly brown hair, and he spun around, helpless.

_I’m going insane._

“Where’s Chris,” Phil said to himself, “I need to find Chris!”

 _Chris is gone_ , Phil’s mind whispered. Phil whimpered, the tears returning with a vengeance.

Phil saw the same head of brown curls. He sprung up, and in front of him was _Dan_.

But not Dan. It was Dan, with spores growing out of his ears, eyes unseeing and fingernails odd-looking with spores growing out from under them.

Phil’s heart snapped in two. Right there, in that instant, he realized that the creature standing in front of him was real, wasn’t a hallucination, was _really Dan_.

Phil didn’t realize he was crying. Dan couldn’t know it was him, but he saw his roommate and best friend standing in front of him.

“Dan!” Phil cried, voice choked, “Please tell me you know who I am.”

Dan’s head slowly cocked to one side, and Phil could almost see a flicker of curiosity in his eyes.

“Dan,” Phil sobbed, “Dan, I missed you. I—please come back.”

Phil didn’t realize that Dan wasn’t trying to attack him like the others had. _Maybe Dan was different_ , Phil’s traitorous mind whispered, _maybe he loves you enough. Maybe his brain could overpower the fungus._

“Dan—Dan.” Phil gulped, “I love you. Please come back. _Please_.”

It must have been quite a sight, Phil pleading to a not-quite-human _thing_ , begging for it to recognize him. But, truth be told, Phil was _lonely_. It wasn’t hard to spot—Phil whispered to himself sometimes. Sometimes he cooked enough food for two people on accident. Sometimes he couldn’t do anything except look at the echo of his old life—the picture, the one where Dan was happy and Phil was happy and Phil had the luxury of being pudgy and well-fed and Dan wasn’t covered in scars and his eyes still saw—and he cried.

Dan almost looked like he could see Phil, and Phil knew that he wouldn’t be able to leave the creature that inhabited his best friend again.

Dan’s mouth opened and shut a few times, the fronds of the parasite preventing him from speaking. Phil was absolutely shocked when Dan drew in a raspy breath, all on his own, and his hand twitched.

Then the parasite grabbed ahold of him again. He lunged forward, tearing at Phil’s mask.

“Stop! Stop! Dan!” Phil yelled, pushing his friend backwards. The parasite stumbled backwards and skidded across the ground. Phil could see Dan’s hand drip with red blood. It reminded Phil of what had just happened, who he’d just pushed, the thing that once was human.

Dan’s eyes flickered with something, and he stood up. Phil scrambled backwards, grabbing his club. The zombie didn’t attack him, though. It just stood there, looking at him. Like it had been.

“Please say something,” Phil pleaded, still on the ground. His hair stuck to his head from sweat.

“I have to know you’re still my Dan,” Phil said. When the zombie stepped forward, Phil raised his arms above his head, nearly helpless. His heart had torn along with Dan’s skin when Phil had pushed him, Phil didn’t think he’d be able to survive killing Dan.

“I-I,” The creature spoke, voice even worse than Phil’s, “I love you.”

Phil’s heart shattered. Dan probably only had one shot at talking against the _things_ growing out of his mouth and _that’s what he chose to say_ —

“At least, I think I do,” Dan said, “Or… did. I did. I don’t think I can feel right now.”

Phil blinked. Dan’s voice was a bit warped, speaking around the things that grew from his mouth.

“You’re here, though,” Phil jumped up and wrapped his arms around Dan. His body didn’t feel quite right, it was bony instead of soft like it used to be.

“Oh.” Dan’s lips quirked up in something akin to a smile. “This is nice.”

“You always did like hugs,” Phil said, “Can you remember anything?”

“Some things,” Dan replied.

“Well, that means your hippocampus is working,” Phil said excitedly, “That means your brain isn’t completely shut down! That means there has to be a cure!”

“I’m afraid you’re not really talking to the one you call ‘Dan’ right now.” The Dan-Thing tilted his (it’s?) head.

“What? But, you—“

“But I recall your face,” The Dan-Thing said, “And a few emotions. It’s strange, how strong they are. I don’t think anything else comes through so vividly.”

Phil’s jaw dropped. “Dan. He’s got to be in there somewhere. I’m going to get him back, I’ve got to get him back! You’ve got to help me, please!”

And here he was, back to square one, pleading with this _thing_.

“I’m afraid I can’t do that,” The Dan-Thing replied coldly, “You see, that would require the destruction of _me_ , and I just can’t allow that.”

Phil was stunned. He hadn’t thought of it like that before—but he _needed_ Dan like this creature needed a host.

But Phil was smart. He knew that he’d have to be sneaky to get Dan back.

“Okay. Here’s the deal.” The Dan-Thing gave Phil a look, “You stick with me, I won’t bash your brains in and kill you dead.”

“Why would I do that?” The Dan-Thing asked, seeming genuinely curious.

“I’m lonely,” Phil shrugged, “And you don’t want to die.”

The Dan-Thing gave Phil another curious look.

“Then why don’t you become one of us?” It asked, “It’d be simple. There’s no pain if your body and mind accept our spores.”

“Because I don’t _want_ that,” Phil insisted, “It’d be devastating, trapped inside my own head with no way out.”

The Dan-Thing looked almost apologetic. If things could be apologetic.

“Well, I’m sure Dan doesn’t mind,” It said.

“So… do we have a deal?” Phil asked, more aggressively this time.

“I suppose,” The Dan-Thing said.

Phil smiled half-heartedly. _What had he gotten himself into?_

* * *

As it turned out, Phil had gotten himself into a terrible amount of heartbreak. The Dan-Thing wasn’t too talkative, and neither was Phil, but every once in a while he’d look over and see Dan. The real one. Not the thing that inhabited his body. And then Phil would be brought back to Earth, caught in a landslide of loneliness and anxiety.

Something the Dan-Thing seemed quite fond of asking, though, was ‘Why?’

“Why are you doing that?” _I have to eat._

“Why do you keep humming?” _I miss music._

“Why are you sad?” _Because Dan’s gone_.

“Why do you want Dan back so badly?”

“Because you took him!” Phil said aggressively, almost yelling, before taking a breath and starting again, “He was my _friend_. My best friend. Do you know what those are?” The Dan-Thing shook its head, “A friend is someone you can trust. Someone you love with all your heart. Dan was mine. He was the person I lived with for so many years. We have so much history, it’s just… it’s just horrible for me to have to look at his face and talk to someone—something else.”

The Dan-Thing gave Phil an odd look. “I don’t think I’ve ever had one of those.”

Phil just blinked back at it.

“Would you be my friend?” The Dan-Thing asked. Phil blinked again.

Silence stretched out for a long time before Phil said softly, “Sure.”

Because Phil had gotten to thinking. When he hugged Dan, said that he’d loved and missed him, the Dan-Thing spoke. When he opened up to the Dan-Thing and yelled at it, it asked to be his friend. And now, when Phil accepted, a smile stretched across the Dan-Thing’s usually blank face. Its gossamer brown eyes met Phil’s bright blue ones like the grass meets the setting sun.

“You miss him,” It said, “And I took him away from you.”

Phil could hear the empathy in its voice. It almost sounded like Dan, in a way, but its voice was too garbled, its eyes too glossy, its actions too robotic.

“Well, maybe you could be just as good,” Phil replied, a small smile spreading on his face. It wasn’t quite fake, but it wasn’t quite real either. It was an exaggeration, Phil decided. An exaggeration of his excitement, happiness, and guilt rolled up into one. And guilt was a strange emotion to be feeling, but every single time Phil looked at the creature that stood beside him in the little place he’d carved out for himself, he couldn’t help but to think. _It’s an innocent being, just trying to survive. Why should my wants outweigh its needs?_

Phil would sleep on it.

* * *

Phil’s house—if it could even be called that—was a feat of his hard work and dedication, features of his personality that took the driver’s seat after his cheerfulness had been thrown out the window. It distracted him, working his shoulder muscles into the late afternoon. Every once in a while, a zombie would come across him and he’d have to kill it, but he worked practically uninterrupted.

After a year and a half, he’d managed to fix up an old house. It was tiny, but really, did he need more space than that? He’d even managed to steal some solar panels from the nicer neighborhood a few streets over, so it had power, although Phil didn’t quite trust his electrical abilities to such an extent as to use too much power at once. He did, however, have enough to cook food on the stove, and heat the house in the winter. (The last one might’ve been a bit of a hope instead of a fact, but Phil would live, regardless.)

And now, Phil’s pipedream was a reality. Here he was, in a semi-functioning house, with Dan sitting next to him as he cooked breakfast—a few eggs.

But it felt _wrong_. It wasn’t Dan sitting next to him, it was the Dan-Thing. And he was still making eggs for one.

“Why don’t you hunt?” The Dan-Thing asked.

“I couldn’t possibly stomach killing innocent creatures,” Phil said, “Plus, I’m much too clumsy.”

The Dan-Thing nodded, watching as Phil got out his bowl—another relic from the Nicer House a few streets over—and put the eggs inside.

* * *

One day, Phil did find other people. A small caravan of six, a rag-tag group of old friends. When Phil did find them, one shouted, “Behind you!” and aimed a gun behind his head.

“No, no, that’s not—“ Phil winced as the gun went off, but luckily, the Dan-Thing wasn’t hit, “He’s not dangerous!”

“What?” One of the men asked.

“He’s my _friend_ ,” Phil exclaimed, “Or, he was.”

Phil ignored the way a twinkle of sadness played in the Dan-Thing’s eyes as he stepped forward.

“He’s a monster! How could you let him stand by you?” One of the members gasped, aiming a gun at the Dan-Thing’s head. Phil growled as he stepped in front of the Dan-Thing.

“Listen,” Phil snarled, “This might not be my friend. But he _was_. And if there’s even a single glimmer of hope, a single shred of evidence that indicates that I might get him back, I will not let you _fuckers_ kill my friend.”

All six looked at him in utter shock—although, he couldn’t see that the Dan-Thing was actually looking at him in the same way.

“You never swear,” The Dan-Thing said numbly. 

“Everybody swears,” Phil said shortly, “Now, we’re leaving. Maybe other people aren’t so good after all.”

* * *

Dan and the parasite that infested him were starkly different. Where Dan was quiet, the Dan-Thing was loud, and vice versa. Where Dan was the sun, the Dan-Thing was the pale clouds that stretched over the sun and blocked it. And what was even worse, Phil was starting to like the Dan-Thing.

Phil pegged it down to their proximity, to the fact that the first face—for that matter, the only face—he saw in the morning was the gossamer brown eyes and stringy brown hair of the man he once loved.

Phil didn’t know how to move on. The Dan-Thing could speak, could respond to Phil, could express basic emotion, but Phil was still scheming. _Would negative emotions work in the same way?_ Phil didn’t think so.

 _Do I need to go further?_ The strange thought worked its way in with the _‘What do I do?’_ s. It lingered in his head like the time in a dusty classroom.

And Phil thought on it, and then one day he decided _fuck it_.

“Hey,” Phil said casually, poking the shoulder of the Dan-Thing. When it turned around, Phil pressed his lips to its cheek. The Dan-Thing blinked.

“ _Phil!_ ” The Dan-Thing said, now looking shocked. It was more of an emotion than he’d ever shown, though, and Phil beamed at him.

“You—I—“ Dan gulped down some air, “I love you.”

And with that, it was like Phil had broken some barrier. Dan gasped, tearing at the fronds in his mouth. He threw up once, and Phil was at his side in an instant.

“Fight it, Dan,” Phil said, knowing the threat a lot better than he had, “You can beat it.”

“ _Phil_ ,” Dan gasped as soon as he’d gotten the stiff matter out of his mouth, “I _was_ it.”

Phil blinked.

“I still _felt_ like me,” Dan said, standing up with tears brimming in his eyes, “I was so hungry, all the time—Phil, do you know what I did! I killed people! I’ll kill you too, look at my hands! Look at my ears, look at my _eyes_ , Phil! I’m a freak—“

Phil cut him off with another kiss, this one to his lips. Phil’s hands cupped Dan’s face, thumb dragging over his cheekbones. Dan’s lips tasted horrible, but Phil would live. He’d had horrible things before, but now he had Dan, too.

“I’ve missed you more than music,” Phil whispered, and to anybody else, it might’ve just been a meaningless phrase, but to Dan, it was the world. Dan choked out another sob, bringing his hand up to meet Phil’s. Phil stared into Dan’s gossamer eyes, and he saw life in there for the first time in a long time.

“You have no idea how long I was waiting to do that,” Phil grinned, stepping in closer to Dan and properly hugging him. Dan hugged back for the first time in a long time.

“I love you too, you weirdo,” Dan said, “Kissing me right after a barfed. What were you thinking?”

“It calmed you down, didn’t it?” Phil replied, “And anyway, now we can go brush our teeth together, c’mon!”

“Did the apocalypse end while I was out?” Dan asked, looking around at Phil’s well-lit living room.

“Nope,” Phil grinned, “But I did learn how to wire solar panels.”

“Wow,” Dan said, impressed, “Mr. Handyman, over here—oomph!”

Dan fell onto his knees, clutching at his stomach.

“Dan, what’s wrong?” Phil asked, concerned.

“Nothing, I just,” Dan tried to get up again, his legs shaking.

“You are not going to kill yourself like this,” Phil growled, picking Dan up bridal-style and carrying him to the bathroom.

“Plumbing doesn’t work,” Phil said, “So if you have to use the restroom, go outside.”

Dan scrunched up his face in disgust, and Phil burst out laughing.

“I’m totally joking,” Phil said, tongue poking out of his mouth, “Guess what your beautiful handy-man also did?”

“How?” Dan asked.

“A year and a half’ll get you far,” Phil said, handing Dan a toothbrush, “It’s from the rain-well.”

“Wow,” Dan said, “And the toilet?”

“It’s like a human litterbox,” Phil explained, “I remember seeing it on HGTV or something like that once.”

“So you just have wood shavings or something in there?”

“Shredded old newspapers,” Phil shrugged.

“You sure are smart,” Dan grinned, “Now help me up, you dumb fuck, I’m unbelievably hungry and I want these _things_ off and out of me asap.”

Phil smiled and pecked Dan’s cheek as he lifted him up again.

“You’ve gotten strong too,” Dan commented, “Are you all tough and rugged after spending a year in the barren wilderness?”

“Yes and no,” Phil said, “I still think I’m pretty soft, at least, compared to you.”

“Hey!” Dan rebuked, pretending to be offended. He grinned, burying his head in Phil’s chest.

“Don’t go to sleep on me now,” Phil said, “Brunch first.”

“And let me guess,” Dan rolled his eyes, “Then we’ll have an in-depth chat about our feelings and wind up fucking?”

“Nice try, but maybe after that nap of yours.” Phil placed Dan down on a chair and opened up a can of fruit and got to work on some beans.

He could see Dan starting to drift off, so he placed the slightly under-cooked beans in front of him.

“Aw, Dan’s sleepy,” Phil said, and Dan pouted at him as he lifted a bowl of beans to his mouth and sipped on it—instead of using the spoon Phil had given him, but at least he was eating.

“Do y’think these’ll fall out on their own?” Dan pondered, looking at the fronds that grew from his fingernails.

“Maybe, maybe not,” Phil shrugged, “Naptime now, or should we try our luck with these things?”

“I’m actually feeling a lot more awake,” Dan said, “So go ahead.”

“Tell me if there’s any pain,” Phil said, pressing a kiss to Dan’s temple. Phil sat in front of him and surveyed Dan’s shaking form.

“Don’t be afraid, Bear.” Phil pulled lightly on one of the fronds and Dan whimpered.

“What did that feel like?” Phil asked, tugging again.

“Kinda like when you tug on a fingernail,” Dan said, closing his eyes and scrunching up his face in pain.

“You’re doing so well, sweetheart,” Phil said, deciding that his gut instinct was king and that he should just yank the thing out of Dan’s arm.

Dan yelped as Phil tugged the frond out. It was a bit bloody and Dan was biting down hard on his lip to keep from screaming.

“Just nine more,” Phil said, groaning. He took another and pulled on it, completely grossed out.

“In another scenario, this might’ve been incredibly kinky,” Dan joked, and Phil laughed as he pulled out all of the rest. It was nasty, quite honestly, and the thought of both of them getting off to it disgusted Phil.

“You loved it,” Phil replied, winking and pressing a bandage to Dan’s hands. He wrapped Dan’s hands up, looking over his body for other injuries.

His body was covered in tiny nicks and scars, but none of them were fresh wounds. But another feature drew Phil’s attention—Dan’s ribs stuck out. They hadn’t done that since 2012. Phil’s breath hitched as he drew Dan in for another hug.

“I fuckin’ hate you,” Dan mumbled into Phil’s shoulder. Phil was once again struck by a gratefulness to whatever deity existed that his best friend—his ‘something more’—was sitting beside him again.

“Nap time?” Phil asked after a long time had passed.

“Good idea,” Dan said, and Phil picked the younger up again to carry him.

“I’m liking the whole ‘muscles’ thing,” Dan grinned, “You’re hot.”

“You’d be hotter if you actually had a body,” Phil said, “Look at you! Skin and bones, I’ve got to fatten you up.”

“You’re gonna spoil me in the middle of the apocalypse, Phil,” Dan rolled his eyes. Phil put Dan down in the bed (let’s just assume he’d transported everything from the Nice House A Few Streets Over).

Phil was about to leave when Dan called out to him.

“Phil, I’m cold,” Dan said, “Sleep with me?”

Phil winked to him as he walked back.

“Not like that, you twit!” Dan laughed, “Maybe later, though, if we can find… like… lube or something.”

Phil huffed out a laugh, drawing Dan in closer to his body.

“Warm enough?” Phil asked, laying his head on top of Dan’s.

“Thank you,” Dan replied softly.

Silence fell over them as they drifted off, comfortable in one another’s embrace. Even if Dan’s ears still looked incredibly weird.

* * *

And that’s where they stayed. Phil was glad to have Dan back, no matter how much Dan complained about Phil’s reluctance to hunt (Dan would pick up a crossbow from one of the houses they looted) or how much he hated his body (Phil spent many nights caressing the divots and scars that mottled his skin) or how lonely they got (though, Phil did find a piano for Dan to play, and Dan became such a profoundly good player that it shocked Phil).

The years dripped by slowly, like golden syrup. They didn’t kill zombies any longer—instead, they brought them back to life. Phil didn’t know the exact science behind it, though he could guess. (His best theory was that extreme emotions like fear and love triggered parts of the brain, sending the prefrontal cortex back into a working state)

Once humanity had gotten back onto its feet, there was a legend. One of those legends you hear in fairytale books, about two men who fell so deeply for one another that nothing could stop them. Not even death. About how one had gossamer brown eyes and scarred skin even after he’d been healed, about how one promised to never leave the other’s side again.

It was one of those fairytales that filled you with hope and happiness, even after you learn the horrible details. The death, the gore, the nitty-gritty stuff that they wouldn’t dare tell to children. About how Phil had stared his old friend dead in the eyes and had to walk away. About how he never found that friend again. And how there were people who never stopped killing zombies, even after it was discovered that there was a cure.

But it wasn’t just a story or a legend or—God forbid—just a tall tale. It was _real_. And that’s what made it special.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you guys so much for reading! If you want to get some idea of what the zombie looked like, click [here](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ophiocordyceps_unilateralis) or [here](http://www.livescience.com/47751-zombie-fungus-picky-about-ant-brains.html), and as per usual, if you want to have a cheeky look at my Tumblr, clicky clicky [here](http://llamaswithbeanies.tumblr.com/)


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